by Belva Plain
Lynn looked out of the window where sleet was slanting as if it, too, like the trees, were leaning against the wind. A high, dangerous glaze lay on the white slope.
“No, I’ll go, Emily. The roads are slippery, and you haven’t been driving long enough to manage.”
Emily looked at her mother’s enormous belly. “And if the car gets stuck and you have to get out and you fall? No, I’ll go, Mom. I’ll be careful.”
When you come down to it, she is still the most responsible girl, Lynn thought as she watched the car move cautiously down the drive, slide into the road, and move almost inch by inch out of sight. Nevertheless, she remained at her anxious post by the window, mentally timing the trip to the school and return.
When the telephone rang—always at the most inconvenient moments, it seems, the telephone has to ring—she picked it up. An unfamiliar voice came over the wire.
“Lynn Ferguson? This is Fay Heller, your sister Helen’s neighbor in St. Louis. Do you remember me?”
Lynn’s insides quivered. “Yes, yes. Has anything—Where’s Helen?”
“Helen’s fine. The whole family’s away on a ski trip. I’m calling because they’re away, and your little girl Annie’s here at my house.”
Lynn sank down onto a chair. “Annie? There with you? I don’t understand.”
A very calm, soothing voice explained. “Don’t be frightened. She’s quite all right, unharmed. She arrived in a taxi around three o’clock. I saw her ringing Helen’s bell, and naturally getting no answer, so I went over and brought her here. She doesn’t want to explain herself, and so I haven’t pressed, but—”
Oh, my God, she’s run away. What else is going to happen? To run away makes no sense.…
“I can’t imagine whatever got into her head!” Lynn cried, the trite words coming automatically, while her thoughts ran opposite. You don’t have to imagine, you know. Robert is coming home.…
The ice cream episode had been horrible, and yet … To run away … Annie, Annie …
Her head pounded. Her sweaty, cold hand shook, holding the receiver.
“Kids do surprise us sometimes, don’t they?” The woman was trying to make light of the affair, trying to console. “I guess we did the same to our parents in our time.”
Lynn’s thoughts were racing. However had Annie bought a ticket and gotten onto the plane? An unaccompanied child, going all that distance? They would never sell her a ticket.
“May I talk to her, please?”
“I did suggest that she call you right away, but she was a bit upset, naturally, so I thought it better not to insist.”
“She’s not afraid to talk to me? Tell her I won’t scold her. I only want to know how she is. Tell her, please, please.”
“Well, the fact is, I wouldn’t say she’s afraid, but she was really awfully tired, and I sent her upstairs to lie down. After she ate, I mean. She was hungry.”
Now the woman is being tactful. The truth is, Annie doesn’t want to talk to me.
“She wants to go home. Do you want me to see whether there’s a plane we can get her on this evening?”
So she does want to come back! Oh, thank God for that.
“No, in the circumstances, I don’t want her to fly alone. I’ll find out how I can fly from here instead.”
“Actually, the weather’s very bad on this end. Why don’t you let me keep her overnight? It’s late in the day now, anyway.”
Tears were gathering; Lynn’s throat was tightening. And the other woman, apparently sensing this, said gently, “You’re thinking she’s a trouble to us, but she isn’t. And she’s quite fine here. You remember my three, don’t you? They’re grown and gone, but I still know what to do with a young girl. So don’t worry.”
A little sob broke now. “I’m terrified thinking what might have happened if it hadn’t been you who discovered her. God knows who else might have come along.”
“Well, no one else did. Wait a minute, my husband’s saying something. Oh, I’m right. Nothing’s flying out of here tonight. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”
“All right, then, I’ll take the first plane in the morning. And, oh, I want to thank you. How can I even begin?”
“Don’t bother. You would do the same for someone. Just get a good night’s sleep if you can.”
She must wipe her eyes and compose her face before Emily came back. The mother is strong in emergencies, not shaken. A mother hides her fears and hurts. But she hadn’t been able to hide them from the doctor that morning.…
In the back entry Emily stamped snow from her boots and called, “Mom? Mom? She wasn’t there. I looked all over. The darn kid must have gone home with one of her friends. You’d think she could at least call up. Why, what’s the matter?”
“What on earth do you think that foolish child has gone and done?” Lynn wanted to express, instead of her total dismay, a kind of mock exasperation as if to say, with hands thrown up, What will she do next?
But Emily did not respond in land. “She’s very frightened. Her dark thoughts frighten her,” she said gravely.
The two women looked at each other. It occurred to Lynn that they, too, were exchanging such rather enigmatic looks quite often lately. It occurred to her, too, that it was always she herself who first dropped her eyes or turned away.
“Annie was never an easy child, not like you,” she said, since a comment of some kind was needed.
That, of course, was just what Robert had said when he called from London. And Emily’s reply was the very one that she, Lynn, had given to Robert.
“Nobody’s easy.”
She was not up to a philosophical argument, not now. “I’ll fly out tomorrow on the first flight I can get.” Since Emily still stood there looking uncertain, she added, “I remember the Hellers. They’re good friends of Aunt Helen’s. So let’s try not to worry too much.”
Emily said only, “Well, I’ve a ton of work. I’d better get to it.”
Sometimes, not often, it can seem that there’s no comfort in Emily, Lynn thought. In fact, she even has a way of making me feel uncomfortable, almost as if, right now, I’m the one who made Annie run away.
The dog whined to go out. She stood at the kitchen door while Juliet ran to the shrubbery, where each twig was now glassy with ice. The dog squatted, ran back, and shook the wet from her fur, sprinkling the kitchen floor. On sudden impulse, oblivious of the wetness, Lynn knelt and hugged her. She needed living warmth.
“Oh, God,” she said, letting the dog lick her hand.
But she needed words, too, warm words, and these the animal could not give. So she went to the telephone. She had to tell Josie.
“Are you all right?” asked Josie when she had finished her short account.
“Yes, yes, I only needed to talk. I’m sorry to be dumping on you when you’re sick.”
“It’s only this nasty cold that I still can’t shake, and you are not dumping. Hold on a minute. Bruce is here and he wants to know what this is all about.”
First Lynn heard them conferring in the background. Then Bruce came to the telephone.
“Lynn, take it easy,” he said. “I’ll go bring her back. The weather’s bad, and you can’t risk a fall. I’ll go in the morning.”
She protested, was overruled with utmost firmness, and, suddenly exhausted, went upstairs to lie down on the bed.
In a rowboat, alone and terror stricken, struggling and straining somewhere on turbulent high seas with no land in sight, she suddenly saw the flare of light and heard someone speak. Emily was standing beside the bed.
“Mom dear, wake up. You’ve been asleep for more than an hour. You’ve got to eat something. I’ve made dinner.”
In midmorning Tom Lawrence called with an invitation to Annie for a good-bye dinner with Sybil, who was going back home. The normalcy of this request, made in Tom’s jocular way, but arriving in these abnormal circumstances, made Lynn’s answer choke in her throat.
“Annie’s not here.” Her voi
ce slipped into a high falsetto. “Annie’s run away.”
There was a pause. What should, what could, anyone reply to news like that?
He asked her quietly whether she could tell him anything more.
“Yes. She went back to St. Louis to my sister. Only, my sister wasn’t there—” Her voice broke, and he had to wait for her to resume. “Bruce has gone to bring her home.”
“Robert’s not back, then?”
“No. The day after tomorrow.”
“Who’s with you, Lynn?”
“Nobody. I made Emily go to school, and Josie has a terrible cold, flu or something. And I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Of course not. You shouldn’t be there by yourself, though. I’m coming over.”
“Oh, no! You needn’t. I’m all right, really.”
She must look frightful, a pregnant elephant with dark circles under the eyes.… Strange that she should care at all, at a time like this, how she would appear before this man. “Your work, your office—”
“I’m coming over.”
The pile of logs in the fireplace was ready to be ignited. For a moment she regarded it uncertainly, feeling a little foolish for even having the thought, as though she were being a hostess preparing for guests. Then, deciding, she lit the fire, went to the kitchen to prepare coffee, took a cup of violets from the windowsill and put it on the tray with the cups and the coffeepot. By the time Tom arrived, the fire was lovely, the coffee was fragrant, and a little plate of warm muffins lay on the table before the fire.
In jeans and a flannel shirt he looked like a college boy, belying his years. Robert never wore jeans. Her thoughts were disconnected.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. “Or shall we talk instead about the day’s headlines? Or shall we not talk at all?”
She put out her hands, palms up, expressing confusion, and began to string together the adjectives that seemed to come automatically with every description of Annie. “I don’t know how to say it.… She’s a difficult, secretive, moody child.” She had to stop.
Tom nodded. “She’s a great little kid, all the same. My sister couldn’t get over how much she knows compared with Sybil.”
And Robert complains that she’s stupid.
“She’s a sweet little girl, your Annie.”
There was a very gentle compassion in Tom’s face. His eyes were leaf shaped; funny, she had not noticed that before.
“You gave her a wonderful time. She loved it.”
He took a muffin. “Banana. It’s different. What’s in it?”
“Orange peel. I thought I’d try it. Is it any good?”
“Wonderful. I told you, you ought to be in business. But of course, this is hardly the time.”
The fire crackled, drawing them with its ancient lure to watch its tipsy dance. Presently, Tom spoke again.
“May I talk frankly? Annie’s worried about herself, isn’t she? About her weight and her hair?”
“Yes, you were very kind to reassure her.”
And as she remembered Annie saying, “You should marry Tom,” a tiny smile, in spite of herself, quickly came and went.
He opened his mouth and closed it.
“You were going to say something, Tom.”
“No, I changed my mind.”
“Why? Please say it.”
He shook his head. “I got in a lot of trouble with you once, remember?”
“Yes, because you said things that weren’t true.”
She had to tell him that. Had to. Framed in silver on the table beside the sofa, Robert was regarding her gravely. On his hand the wedding band showed prominently. It had been his idea to wear joint rings.
Tom had followed her gaze. And, as if he had made a resolve, continued. “I was only going to say that Annie repeated several times that her father was upset about her weight. That’s all I was going to say. I thought it might be a useful clue to what’s happened.”
Upset. That dreadful scene. You’re a mess. The child’s blotchy, tear-smeared face. And then: I would never hurt her feelings. I love you all.
“I don’t know what to think,” she murmured, as if Tom weren’t there.
He took a swallow of coffee, put the cup down, took it up again, replaced it once more, and then said, “I’m your friend, Lynn. We haven’t known each other very long or closely, but I hope you feel that I’m your friend.”
Clearly, he was trying to pull from her some admission, some confession of need, and some appeal for his help. Even in the midst of this day’s turmoil she was alert enough to be aware of that. Yet she felt no resentment toward him for trying, which was strange, and because it was necessary to respond to his generosity, she murmured, “I know you would help if you could. The fact that you’re sitting here is enough to tell me that.”
“And you’re sure I can’t help?”
She shook her head. “It is something we shall have to work on with patience. Robert always used to talk Annie out of her—her moods—but lately, they’ve been having their troubles. Well, she’s growing up, and growing up is harder for some children than it is for others.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I wouldn’t know, not having had any children, only wives.”
She leapt toward the change of subject. “How many, may I ask?”
“Two and a half.”
“A half.”
“Yes, I lived with one for a year. You might call that having half a wife.” He laughed. “Oh, it was all very friendly. We made a mutual decision to call it quits.”
Lynn thought: If I had him, I don’t think I would, or could, easily let him go. And she remembered how when she first had seen him, she had felt a kind of lightness about him, a bright illumination, shedding happiness.
He gave her now a quizzical look, saying, “You don’t approve?”
“I? I don’t judge. But Robert wouldn’t—” And she stopped.
That was wrong. Her mention of Robert’s trouble with Annie was wrong. One kept one’s problems to oneself, within the family. And she looked again at Robert’s photograph, which, although it was of ordinary size, dominated the room. This time, Tom followed her glance.
“I talked to Pete Monacco the other day. He wanted me to know how much they’re all impressed with Robert. Of course, he thinks Robert and I are very close friends.”
At the “close friends,” Lynn flushed. She said quickly, “Well, Robert’s impressive. I don’t know where he gets all his energy. In addition to everything else he does, he’s taken on a new project, fund-raising for AIDS research.”
“Incredible energy.”
There was a pause, as if they had both been brought up short at a line that neither one must cross. Then a telephone call came, easing the moment.
“Yes, Bruce? Oh, thank God. Yes, hurry. Don’t miss it.” She hung up. “That was Bruce, phoning from the airport. They’re on the way home. Annie’s cheerful, and I’m not to worry.” She wiped her eyes. “Not to worry. Imagine.”
“But you do feel a lot better.”
“Yes. I’ll talk to Annie very, very seriously. As you say, she’s a bright girl. We’ll talk heart to heart. I can reach her.” As she spoke, it seemed to her that this was a reasonable attitude. You talk things out, you reached understanding. True, Annie had run off on a crazy impulse, but she had come back; it was not the end of the world.
“Yes, I do feel better,” she repeated.
He stood up, saying, “That being the case, I’ll leave you. It’s my sister’s last day.”
“Of course. You were wonderful to come at all.”
“You’re a lovely woman, Lynn. But you’re all out of style. Oh, I don’t mean your clothes. When you’re a normal shape you look like Fifth Avenue. I mean, you still have a sort of old-fashioned, small-town trustfulness. I’m not making myself clear, am I?”
Answering his smile, she said, “Not really.”
“What I mean is, trust is out of fashion now.”
He took her hand and raised
it to his lips.
“Something I learned last year in Vienna. They still do it there. ‘I kiss your hand, honored lady.’ ”
At the front door, puzzled and slightly embarrassed, she could think of only one thing to say, and repeated, “It was wonderful of you to come. Thank you so much.”
“I’m here for you anytime you need me. Remember that,” he said, and went down the path.
She was left with the same puzzlement. Was this just unusual kindness on his part, or was there anything more to it? She was, after all, so inexperienced. She had hardly spoken to another man or been alone in a room with any man but Robert since she was twenty years old. But she let herself feel flattered anyway. For a pregnant woman with a burdened mind it was a pleasant feeling.
“Well, here we are,” cried Bruce when Emily opened the front door.
Lynn held out her arms, and Annie rushed into them, hiding her face against her mother’s shoulder. Bruce looked on, his smile combining triumph with relief, while a gleam of moisture fogged his glasses.
“Why did you do it, darling?” Lynn cried. “You scared us all so terribly. Why? You should have talked to me first!”
“Don’t be angry at me. I was scared too.” Annie’s plea was muffled in Lynn’s sweater. “I was scared when I was on the plane. I wished I hadn’t done it, but I couldn’t get off the plane, could I?”
“No, no, darling, not without a parachute.” And Lynn pressed the child closer. Then she cried, “How ever did you get a ticket at your age?”
“There were some big girls going to college and they let me say I was their sister. Then when I got there I wanted to go back again, only I didn’t have enough money. I used up everything in my piggy bank for one way. So I had to go to Aunt Helen’s house. And I rang the bell, and nobody was there, and”—the recital ended in a wail—“I wanted to go home!”
“Of course you did. And now you are home.”
But the courage of the child! To make this plan, to carry it out by herself, took brains and courage.
Annie drew away, wiped her running nose with the back of her hand, and shook her head. Tears had streaked her face. Her rumpled collar was twisted inside the neck of her coat. If the girl were beautiful, Lynn told herself in that instant, one would not feel quite so much anguish, such protective pity. And she repeated softly, “Why didn’t you tell me, Annie, whatever it was?”
